As a kid my hair was a very easy fix,
just pull it back with a rubber band into a ponytail.
As a teen a ponytail was not going to work,
off to the hair shop with picture in hand.
I sat in the chair and said,
I want to look like this picture.
I sat dreaming about my great new hair style,
as I looked in their mirror I was horrified.
I did not look like the picture I showed them,
what had happened to my head of hair.
I will fix the professionals,
next hair cut was on me.
That is when I started to cut my hair,
I still laugh when I get asked -
can they have my hairdresser's information.
I have found some great new friends,
hats in all sizes - styles and colors.
Sitting in the waiting room in pre-op,
weight and height taken,
filling out a two-page form,
your hand trembling with age.
A history of a long life,
the body betraying the best years—
the Golden Years, where time moves slower.
The neck that needs physio,
the knee throbbing after hours on your feet,
the heart beating in time
with the new pacemaker,
its battery promising at least ten more years.
Thankful for technology,
we get to hold hands another day.
The myriad aches and pains,
a fleeting smile—
the young man with a full head of hair
and a light step,
looking back at me.
Forty years of a good life,
not wanting to see it end.
Together, hand in hand,
we will triumph.
Because each second, each minute, each hour,
each day we have together
is a reminder—
of the life we’ve built,
of the love mirrored in our eyes.
What a wonderful reminder
of the simple things in life,
as we sit together,
with hope.
We have this little fellow just come into this world
He’s so small and precious so easy to be held
His mum Samantha and dad Simon are so very proud
With all the love they have for him we shout out aloud
As grandparents Michael, Hazel, Marjory and Paul
We line up together professing love for them one and all
A handsome boy with such a future in the forward years
We are so proud and happy and so full of cheer
Such a head of hair just like his dad I see
So dark and thick to brush in place so easily
We’ve had our first hold such a precious bundle of joy
Samantha has done so well to produce our little baby boy.
© Paul Warren Poetry
If the years have granted some wisdom,
Then thankfully, I'm old enough.
Old enough to recall colorful details,
When black & white TV's, weren't enough.
Old enough to remember a full head of hair,
When my main concern was dandruff.
Yet old enough to know the difference,
Between all the important stuff.
I've become old enough to think critically,
Hopefully avoiding any fisticuffs.
While being old enough to avoid the scandalous,
Since I'm not fond of any handcuff.
Through it all, I've tried to be tactful, & not so very tough.
So that whenever I'm asked my age or how old I am ...
I simply respond, I'm old enough.
Daddy pulls out my straight teeth
Keeps them in a jar for me
Knocks it over when I'm bad
He tells me that I "must be mad"'
I pick them up off of the floor
Cracked in half and looking sore
It must be a pathetic sight
He looks at me and his face goes white
Shards of glass buried in my knees
And a head of hair ridden with fleas
He locks me in this vapid room
Says I fill him with "such gloom"
Cardboard windows and socked feet
My ears tune-in to a ringing beat
I cannot even see my hands
This gloom-filled room I cannot stand
I get now, why I’m bound to this
What about me would anyone miss?
What anguish masks her face
with cherry chapstick on her lips
and Medusa’s beautiful head of hair
there are signs of inner turmoil seen
in her deep blue eyes and her demeanor,
Or is this just an attempt to conceal her
quintessential adolescent awkwardness?
Contest: A Brian Strand #1172.
Miss Vivian, my heart is full
to stay with you a while,
to see your precious cherub face,
your impish little smile.
You have your father’s countenance,
your mom’s full head of hair -
Indeed, both fearful, wondrous made,
exquisitely, with care.
Our times with you are far too short,
the separation, mean,
for though my heart is bound to yours,
too many miles between.
But I find solace in this truth:
He’s never far from you.
your every moment’s known to Him,
and that will see me through.
----------
on seeing my granddaughter
for the first time last year;
going out to see here again soon!
Where is the heat when life seems so gray?
In birdsong? In light? My feet must take flight.
Can I stretch out my hands and touch the sun?
Where is it? Where is it? Why doesn’t anyone care
when mocking and laughter fill the air…and they say,
“I like him” “I trust him” — by what standards?
And she too throws back her head of hair.
Doesn’t anyone understand that the eyes grow dark,
the storm sits in the sky like a demonic throne
not exacting its downpour or vortex calamity…yet.
It waits for the right time to strike, like a cobra…
its bite. Are you ready for it? It happens so quickly
it will not be caught on camera. And life could become
colder and colder, just like that…at a finger snap.
Each tread song woven together worn
A tapestry of soul
Physical
A top of their head of hair
Attach the street of soul
Each
A top of their head of hair
God knows each one numbered
Each strand
Physical
God knows each one numbered
How many we have
Thread stone woven together worn
1/8/22
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr © 2022
Ted once had a full head of hair
Now sadly his pate is quite bare
He wears a hair piece
In vibrant cerise
His toupee sure makes people stare!
Wife Betty lost her once trim waist
In corsets her waist is now placed
Much to her chagrin
She’s no longer thin
The aging process must be faced!
88558 checked with HMS
"Vanishing" old or new for a prize Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Carolyn Devonshire
02/26/21
I jumped into a pit of fire
Only to find that my legs caught fire.
For sure, I thought it'd get my head
Where lay this hairy bed.
But wait, what's this?
At last, this head of hair
Went ablaze with such flair,
That I'll sing atop this chair!
A poet may tear out his hair
if he truly does care
to follow every rule
they teach him in school
One foot too long, or one too short
can his finest ideas abort
And woe be it if an accent or two
fits not the traditional pattern
Let syllables be counted
stanzas too
Lest be committed
egregious boo-boos
So if a poet you know
has a full head of hair
He's either a rebel who dared ~
of of baldness he's scared
Dream in hues of blue!
Climbing celestial heights.
With silver, satin ladders in the Spring arms of the night.
With your amorous lover caressing
your dimpled hand.
So intoxicated, you, by him and his seraphic band.
Allow sensual, tropical winds to tousle your
gleaming head of hair.
Just dream in hues of blue, without a worldly care!
May 31, 2020
6pm PST
Poem # 1,309
In memory, I stand outside
My parents’ bedroom door
To peek at their TV to see
An actor I adore.
It’s Kookie (Edd Byrnes in real life)
On “Sunset Strip” at night,
Way past my bedtime, which is why
I stood there, out of sight.
He died this week at 86;
The obit with his name
Says he was a “TV heartthrob”
And what brought him instant fame
Were his looks and famous head of hair
Which he would always comb,
Inspiring a song with
Connie Stevens and this poem.
So Kookie, rest in peace.
You’ll never lend your comb again,
Though you were sure “the ginchiest”
Of all the TV men.
~Frosty Interlude~
She ambled in the frosty woods.
Wondering, if with her imbalance
problems and her cane, if she should.
Still, she forged ahead bravely through
slippery branches and dead grass,
Till the world tilted and she went
crashing onto her _ss!
As luck would have it, a fellow-
canes-man was there.
He greeted her and brushed the
dead leaves and frost from her
graying, full head of hair.
Stood the grateful woman up,
and took her to his gentlemanly
lair.
Hot chocolate and cookies were
placed on the table.
He gave her a warm, Turkish towel,
to dry her long hair, making her
serenely comfortable.
They spent that entire November
day together!
A day she will always with sweet
thoughts and in her heart, fondly
cherish and remember!
11/1/2019
Related Poems